


Muslin

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can turn it on and off?" Not the best reply in the history of handling Rodney, but since Rodney just rolls his eyes and stomps off, muttering about stupidity only his gigantic brain can truly comprehend, he's spared searching for a verbal band-aid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muslin

John misses being messy. A military brat doesn't really get to spread out and take over, whether he's a kid going from house to house or a pilot too busy staying alive and ducking the sergeant in charge of housing to worry about the quality of the floors -- but he has some vague recollections of soft, luxurious weave he can work his toes into like some weird kind of velvety sand: warm and cushioning against feet used to cold and unyielding. 

He stares at his room, sterily beautiful with the kind of unreality of a _Next Gen_ episode -- everything appears comfortable until you actually sit down and realize it's cardboard and spirit gum. Atlanteans knew how to make things comfortable; at least he supposes because they must've taken all the good stuff with them. The beds aren't bad, and the oddly gleaming walls don't drive him crazy, but the chairs make him think of the seventies egg-chairs that looked cool and gave you a back ache after two seconds. Everything is neat and in its proper place, even when he _tries_ to be messy.

Even when he steps into Rodney's room, ground zero for a category five hurricane. It's messy, but it's just... not. It looks composed and peaceful despite the explosion of things; like the room accepts the mess and shifts to accommodate it.

It's creepy, really. And it offends something deep in John's mind, the part that used to look down at the beaches he flew over and the frozen wastelands of snow that would make absolutely kick-ass skiing. The part that remembers how to make a mess and force the room to let you mold it, instead of letting it mold you. He's not entirely certain where this part comes from, but the longer he's in Atlantis the more he realizes how much he treasures it. A stolen bit of himself that isn't hampered by rules -- even the ones he likes.

So it surprises the hell out of him when he comes back to his room one day -- crazy ass people who do crazy ass things that _get him hurt_ and make him yell and look sternly at scientists that don't know how to follow damn orders even when he's trying to save their out of shape asses -- and he finds carpet. Wall to wall. The color sort of defies description, matching the silvery-greeny-bluey-something of the wall without ever being the same or, even to his untutored eye, clashing. But it's carpet, a thick weave that looks soft and inviting, silently encouraging him to take his shoes off and see if the scuff marks will be a different color. To test if it really is as deep and rich as it seems. 

He stares at it fixedly, wondering if this is another bit of weirdness that can only happen to him -- and who said he wanted to be the Atlantis guinea pig, huh? -- when Rodney comes bustling up beside him. Rodney is always bustling, even the few times he's at rest. "Colonel. Ah, I see you've found Kavanaugh's latest. He swears it's self-cleaning, but I've looked at that code and of course he's absolutely wrong. Fortunately, I'm pretty sure I know where the self-cleaning mechanism is and how to turn it on."

The words tumble out so quickly that even John's Rodney-attuned ear takes a moment to catch up. "Uh huh," he says, intelligently.

Rodney snorts and shoves him a little too hard in the small of his back. "Unbelievable. You can face Genii without flinching, turn on half the city with a glance, and totally don't have a problem with aliens that completely get the mind-sucking thing all wrong. It's carpeting that appears with a flip of a switch that finally destroys that military cool."

"You can turn it on and off?" Not the best reply in the history of handling Rodney, but since Rodney just rolls his eyes and stomps off, muttering about stupidity only his gigantic brain can truly comprehend, he's spared searching for a verbal band-aid.

It's twenty minutes into bare-footed wallowing in carpet that really is as deep and comforting and _warm_ as it looks to wonder why Rodney's flipped the carpet switch for him. And another three second before he realizes he doesn't care at all.

Afterwards, his room always looks messy.


End file.
